


Come to Poppa

by trashbucket



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Schoolgirls, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashbucket/pseuds/trashbucket
Summary: Clarke tries to seduce her professor but he turns the tables. For The100Kinkmeme.





	

It was supposed to be a joke.

Octavia wouldn't shut up about it, how hot professor Kane is. At first, she just rolled her eyes; at the end of the day, Professor Kane is just Marcus, who used to buy her ice cream and liked to order his omelets without cheese.

She says as much and Octavia counters with the pictures someone had managed to get off his Facebook, of just-Marcus shirtless, beer in hand.

"I could get him to make a pass at me." The words come out of nowhere, but once they're out they feel right. Octavia cackles, and inspiration hardens into resolve. "What? I could."

"Oh, Professor _Kane_!" Octavia moans in a high falsetto, ignoring the heads that turn towards their table. "You're on. And I want proof."

\--

She puts the plan into action on a slowly escalating timeline. Staying after class when she doesn't need to ask anything that matters, casually touching his arm when she says goodbye. Wells agrees to swap TA sessions so she can have Marcus' third period class with the freshmen; after third period comes lunch, and she can always find something to grade and keep her there until her next class.

Two weeks after the switch, she wears a shirt mom keeps trying to get her to toss, because she's had it since freshman year and it was tight then. She keeps her sweatshirt over it until history. When she takes it off Marcus' eyes track the movement, darting down to take in the cleavage spilling out of the deep v before returning smoothly to their lesson.

It would be discouraging, but he carefully doesn't look at her again, until class is over and her sweatshirt is back on, and he doesn't report her for a uniform violation, even when she does the same thing at lunch.

It's a start.

\--

That night, she dreams Marcus is in her bedroom, wearing the battered leather jacket he used to hang up on a hook by the door every Friday. He throws it on her bed, black incongruous among all the pink and frills of the canopy set mom bought her and won't let her swap out for something more grownup.

Her teddybear watches with beady eyes as he crawls between her legs, covering her body with his and blotting out all the light from the window. He touches her pussy and says things that make her burn with embarrassment, filthy as any porn she's ever seen. She wakes up as he unzips his jeans and thrusts her hand between her legs and rubs off against the heel of her hand, biting her tongue to keep from making any noise when one final hard pass makes her come.

She hikes her shirt up two inches higher for class the next day, and Marcus' eyes rest on her thighs like he's thinking about something.

\--

He hasn't tried _anything_ after a month and a half, and Octavia's so smug about it Clarke wants to scream. She's not stupid, she's caught him looking, but he hasn't even asked her what the hell she's doing and that makes it even worse, like he doesn't even take her seriously enough to tell her he's not interested in a student.

She gets an idea doing laundry. One of mom's underwear must have gotten trapped in the dryer, because while she's folding her clothes later one of them falls out of the leg of Clarke's yoga pants. She stares at the purple satin and lace and then lies when mom asks if she's seen them.

When she gets to class on Friday, she takes her customary seat in the front row and when everyone else is seated, she looks up and catches Marcus' eyes. When he arches an eyebrow in silent question she jerks her chin down, drawing his attention to under the desk. The stolen underwear don't absorb like cotton, and when she strains to spread her knees as wide as she can the soaked crotch catches and rubs at her labia. She shifts uncomfortably and Marcus coughs.

The way he's staring at her makes her wetter, inner muscles fluttering like they do when she's masturbating. Then he looks up again and she goes scarlet with more than arousal, because he's just smiling gently, like he does when someone asks a question they should already know the answer to.

Class passes in a tortured haze, because every so often when she thinks he's not going to look again and she should stop acting like a stupid groupie and close her legs he glances down and the cycle starts again. Thank God the uniform skirts are dark wool, because she can feel the sloppy mess between her thighs slowly leaking onto the scratchy fabric.

At least it's better than the chair.

"Class dismissed." Marcus shuts his laptop with a decisive snap, standing and nodding at them all in approval. "Ms. Griffin, if you don't mind? Stay a moment with me. Mr. Murphy, if you wouldn't mind telling Professor Sinclair she'll be late to her next class for me? Thank you."

She nods, throat closing on a verbal agreement, and when he shuts the door and locks it behind Murphy's mocking 'sucks to be you' expression Clarke makes to rise.

"No, don't get up." She settles part into the chair, fidgeting under the weight of what she's done now that they're alone and he isn't pretending nothing is going on. "Spread your legs, Clarke. Show me your panties." She looks up at him, shocked into stillness, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You wanted me to see them, didn't you? Then you can show me."

Red spreads in blotchy patches all the way down to her chest, but Clarke slowly parts her legs, skirt hem rising as her knees widen, exposing the crotch of her panties to his intent gaze.

He smiles again, and his nostrils flare, but otherwise they could still be in class. Needled, Clarke rolls her hips a little and lifts her chin. "Do you like them?"

"They're adorable."

Like she's a _kid_. Like he knows she's playing dressup in her mom's panties, because everything she owns is either too plain or too colorful. Clarke's conscious of the lace scratching at her thighs, how the elastic is digging into her skin.

Then Marcus kneels, eyes level with the crotch of her underwear, close enough he can't miss the way the satin passed soaked half an hour again. "Just adorable." Adorable means something else this time, and her cunt clenches painfully around nothing. Being turned on wars with shame, coiling around each other like snakes in her belly. "Did you dress up for me, darling? Put on these pretty, grownup panties for my benefit?"

"Y-yeah." She can feel his breath on her knee, hot and warm. "Do you like them?" It's supposed to be confident, like someone from the porn Octavia found stashed on Bellamy's laptop, but instead she sounds needy.

He chuckles, and her cheeks flame. "Very much so. You always were a good girl." He traces a line across the seam, a hairsbreadth shy of her clit and she whimpers, thrusting up into his hand and whimpering again when he pulls it away, fingertips wet. "Look at this." He clucks his tongue. "You've soaked them through, Clarke. Is that for me, too?" She nods, too embarrassed to answer, and stares down at her lap. "I asked you a question, Miss Griffin."

"Yes sir." The response is automatic, drilled in by years at St. Sophia's. Clarke wants to disappear, to sink down between the floorboards and just die, but then Marcus tips her chin up with two long fingers, the ones he'd touched her with.

"Yes sir, what?"

"Yes sir, I..." Her head spins like that time she and Octavia got into Bellamy's weed and spent the afternoon laying on the lawn, picking out shapes in the clouds and then nothing like that at all, because clouds never made her stomach writhe, or turned her on so much it hurts a little. "I soaked my panties for you."

"Poor thing." He shakes his head, rubbing little circles in the sticky mess she's made of her thighs. "Poor needy little thing. They're _saturated_ , Clarke–look, you've even gotten the chair wet now. How long has that cunt been dripping for me?"

"Since before class."

He leans in, taking a deep breath, close enough he could touch her with his tongue if he wanted. "Good girl." He kisses the front of her panties, just above her clit, and her hands fly down to grab at his hair and try to force him down, to breath hot over where she _wants_ it.

A loud crack meets her ears before the pain hits, sharp and fleeting. Marcus pats the red mark he's made on the meat of her thigh, all fatherly comfort. "Hands to yourself, Miss Griffin. That's your first warning."

"Yes sir." He kisses her again, open mouthed this time and over the crotch of her panties, tongue pressing in hard like he's trying to fuck her through them. "Oh, god. Oh, _fuck_."

His mouth is wet when he lifts his head, eyes dark. "Take them off, Clarke." He leans back on his heels and watches, not lifting a hand to help her, and she burns with shame at the same time her cunt pulses, spilling down her thighs unencumbered now that the barrier of her panties is gone. "Give them to me."

Clarke blinks, licking her lips. "I don't..."

"Hand them to me." Taking the sodden underwear from her limp hand, he drops it on the next desk over. "Good girl. Now." He leans in again, examining her cunt with an intensity that makes her want to close her legs. "A little young to be waxing, aren't you?" He traces the bare skin, covetous, and tweaks one of her inner lips gently. "Has anyone ever put their mouth here, sweetheart?"

"N-" Clarke's voice breaks, and she shakes her head. "No, nobody ever has."

"So I'll be the first person to eat this bare little pussy?" For the first time, he seems affected by something. "Tell me what you want me to do, Clarke."

"I want you t-" she trips over the words, but Marcus already gave her the right answer and she forces them out in a breathy voice. "To eat my bare little pussy."

"Oh, that's a _good_ girl." He licks a broad stripe up her cunt in reward, wet and warm and Clarke nearly _shrieks_ , only remembering to muffle it behind one hand at the last possible second. "That's right, be sure to keep yourself quiet. We wouldn't want anyone else to see you like this, would we? What would they think." He nuzzles into her pussy like an animal and she bites down hard on her arm, jerking her hips up towards his face. "Ah, ah. No moving, either."

The casual way he orders her around kind of makes her mad, but it makes her wetter, cunt plumping up and reddening like it's showing off for him, as greedy for his attention as she is. He rubs his stubble against her again and she stops caring, lost in the feel of his tongue spearing into her cunt, fucking inside and wiggling. He licks up, then, breathing hot over her clit before taking it between his lips and tapping his tongue gently on the hood.

Nothing Finn had done _ever_ felt like this, and her shitty Amazon vibrator doesn't match up. Her hips thrust up without permission and he's gone again, the air of the classroom cold on her pussy.

"No, don't, I'm sorry, I'll be good," she babbles the apology, hands fluttering with the urge to touch him before landing on her own thighs.

He shakes his head, disappointed as he's ever been when she turned in a subpar assignment. "I said no moving, Clarke. Don't make me remind you again."

"I'm _trying_." Hating the childish whine in her voice, she stares down at where her skirt bunches up and reveals her thighs, swallowing hard. "I don't think I can."

"It is your first time at this. I'll help you." He raises an arm and locks it like a roller coaster bar over her legs, almost too tight. Clarke shifts uncomfortably, but she doesn't complain. "You'll learn to control yourself later."

_I can too control myself_ , she wants to scream at him, but then he sets his whole mouth around her pussy like he really is going to eat it, sucking hard, and her animal grunt echoes off the tile before she thinks to cover her mouth again, hips jumping under the hard muscle of his forearm and proving his point.

He pulls back, satisfied, and his face gleams from nose to chin under the fluorescent lights. "Your mother was impatient, too."

The words pierce her bubble of confused lust slowly, the meaning lagging behind. "Mom... what?"

He laughs, patting her knee. "I learned to do this with her. We were just about your age, and your father shoved me down between her legs and told me I needed to learn how to 'treat a woman right' or I'd never get one to look at me twice." Marcus sounds fond, like they're in class and he's telling a story about an old friend and not talking about how he used to eat mom out while dad watched. "I got better at it over the years, but she never got any less impatient."

Clarke goes cold and then hot in two quick pulses, sweat beading between her breasts and at the backs of her knees and the bend of her elbows. She's seen pictures of all three of them back then, so she can picture it, and it's so unfair that he's doing this to her she sobs in frustration, fisting her hands in her skirt and yanking just so she can release some of the tension.

"You really are just like her. Look at me, Clarke." Helpless to disobey, she looks up, and he smiles. "Look at me and tell me you want me you make you come just like I used to make your mother come."

"I can't."

"Of course, it's your choice." He strokes the outside of her thigh, right over where he'd spanked her. "But if you don't say it, I'm afraid I'll have to stop."

" _No_ ," she wails, angry tears pricking her lids. "You can't, Marcus. Please, sir, you have to make me come." He cocks an eyebrow, shaking his head condescendingly, and leans away like he's going to stand. "No! No, I'll say it."

He settles back onto his heels, eyes hot. "Go ahead."

"I want you to make me come," she swallows hard, tasting the next words like a belt of cheap liquor on her tongue, "like you used to make my mom come."

"Good girl," he purrs, leaning in again. "You've been such a good girl for me, I think it's time you had a reward."

She babbles delirious praise when he seals his lips around her clit and sucks, _hard_ , free hand sneaking between her thighs to push two fingers inside her, a little thicker than her vibrator and just this side of too much. It's like being jumping in a pool and then the hot tub and then the pool again like she and Octavia used to, she thinks deliriously, like the shock of temperature change has pushed sound far away and shot her through with electricity. Then Kane brushes her clit with the edge of his teeth and she's gone, sinking down and down and biting hard on her arm to keep anybody outside from hearing her scream.

Too soon, he pulls away, examining the way her chest heaves as she tries to drag in breath and the mascara she can feel smearing around her eyes as he wipes his face clean with a handkerchief pulled from his breast pocket. "Say thank you, Ms. Griffin."

She could come again, just from that, and her thighs slam together with a sticky sounding slap in instinctive response, making her whimper at the pressure on her sensitive cunt. "Thank you." Now she sounds like one of the girls from Bellamy's stash, all husky and wanting.

"Thank you..." He trails off, expectantly, and when what he wants hits her it ties her stomach in knots again.

"Thank you, sir. For making me come." Hurriedly, in case he wants it, she adds, "Like you used to make my mom come."

"I knew you'd learn fast." He nods approvingly and stands, cock huge and hard and warping the line of his slacks. She reaches for it and he slaps her gently away, picking up her underwear and retreating back behind his desk. "That's all."

"But you didn't..." She gestures at his obvious erection and he waves her off, sitting and sifting through papers casually. "It's okay, I want to do it. I've done it before."

"You have a class to get to, Ms. Griffin." He nods towards the door. "Better get moving."

She stands on legs that tremble, smoothing her skirt down her thighs and swinging her backback onto her shoulders. Mom's panties sit on top of their last round of term papers, crotch up and three shades darker than the rest of the fabric. "Sir, my underwear."

"I'll be keeping them." Clarke tracks his hand as he picks them up and places them deliberately where the handkerchief had been, tucked away in his breast pocket where it could poke out, and then someone could _see_. "Professor Sinclair will want to know what kept you so long. Tell him I had a question about one of the papers you marked for me."

She nods robotically, then swallows. "Sir, what am I supposed to wear?"

"Ms. Griffin, you're a smart girl. Don't pretend otherwise." She goes red with humiliation, taking in the critique and his meaning at once. "You've been teasing for me for over a month now. Actions have consequences, and this is yours." His lips quirk. "You'll have to find some way to explain the loss to your mother."

Oh God, he _knew_. Clarke presses her lips together, then shakes her head slowly. "She doesn't know they're gone," she explains through numb lips, and Marcus finally looks up.

"Convenient for both of us, isn't it?" Nodding again, she turns away and makes for the relative safety of another period and a half to go with no underwear. Marcus' voice stops her as she reaches for the doorknob, metal cool in her hands. "Ms. Griffin?"

"Yes, sir?" She doesn't look at him, but she can feel his eyes on her back.

"Once next period lets out, call your mother and tell her I need your help after school. Oh, and tell her I say hello." When she doesn't respond, he prompts her, "That's your cue, Ms. Griffin. I'll see you then."

\----

The rest of the day goes fast. She’s terrified someone will find out and making sure her skirt stays in place becomes an obsession, but then she shifts and the wool scratches her bare cunt, or she remembers that she’s naked and everybody could see if she spread her legs and she’s wet again. It makes everything feel slow and then way too fast by alternate turns, each second on the clock a reminder there’s only two more hours until Marcus wants to see her. He said call mom before last period, but Clarke hurries to her next class instead, a little defiant but mostly terrified if she doesn’t give it more space she’ll blurt it all out once mom picks up the phone.

She does it after school instead, glancing at Marcus’ door and then veering off towards the quad. The open air corridor between the two is windy enough that keeping her skirt from flipping up is a real concern, but it’s the only place with decent reception on this side of the school and Clarke grimly clutches her skirt between her knees and braves it out. At least this way she doesn’t have to deal with the distractions inside.

“Clarke, honey. How was school?”

“It was good.” Wells shoves her shoulder in goodbye, and Clarke waves with one hand. “Listen, I have to stay after today and help Marcus with grading. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but probably before dinner.” Some impulse compels her to add, “He mentioned you, hanging out with you and dad.”

“He did?” She sounds pleased, and Clarke tries not to think about why. “Marcus has never been particularly given to nostalgia. What brought that on?”

_He ate me out like he used to eat you out, then he kept your underwear. And oh yeah, I stole your underwear._

“I don’t know, but he said to say hi.”

“Tell him I said hello back, and that’s it’s been too long.” She’s rattling around somewhere in the house, and Clarke spaces out for a second trying to figure out where until she continues in the tone of someone intensely satisfied with a new idea and blows any chance at unrelated thought out of the water. “In fact, why don’t you invite him over for dinner? We have more than enough to eat.”

_Fuck_. There’s no chance mom knows, _no chance_. But all Clarke can do is picture it, Marcus’ head between mom’s thighs, and then his head between _hers_ and it all mixes up confusingly. She presses her thighs together, giving into the impulse to get some pressure where she needs it most, and tries to sound like she isn’t having a complete sexual crisis.

“I’ll ask, but he might have too many papers.”

“Next week, then. Don’t let him off the hook, honey, that man’s always been stubborn.”

Clarke would say she has no idea, but she probably _does_ and thinking about how only brings her back to where she started, Marcus’ mouth on mom’s cunt, making her feel as good as he had Clarke. “Sure, mom, I got it. I’ll make sure he says yes.”

“I knew I could count on you. Listen, honey, I should get back to _making_ dinner after all this talking about it. I’ll see you when you get home, and I love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

“Don’t forget, any means necessary. Take no prisoners, baby.”

Clarke stares down at her blacked out screen after the line goes quiet until Dax knocks into her from behind. “What the hell, Dax?”

Dax shrugs, pointing down at his backpack as if it rear-ended her on its own. “It’s big. You were in the middle of the walkway. My bad.”

He’s not _wrong_ , but still. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it. I was on the phone.”

He just shrugs again, as if to say: _so_? “Don’t be in my way next time.”

“Whatever.” He flips her off and the mad propels her back to Marcus’ classroom without thinking about mom, but once she’s there even Dax being a dick can’t settle the flurry of nerves and anticipation in her stomach. This is it: he’s going to let her touch him, she can tell. Why else ask her to come back today?

She resists the urge to knock on the door, because why should she? She’s one of his TAs, everybody knows it, and he asked her to come. She doesn’t need _permission_.

He looks up at the click of the handle, setting down his pen and taking a pointed glance at the clock. She’s been in his classes long enough to look down shamefacedly, digging a toe into the ground. “I had to call mom.” He looks ready to remind her _when_ she was supposed to do it, and she hurriedly tacks on, “She said to say hi. And to invite you to dinner.”

It works. Marcus’ lips curl into a secretive smile, whatever annoyance he had about the time forgotten in the face of a much deeper vein to mine. “How kind of her. Lock the door, would you?” Throat sticking on a dry swallow, Clarke nods and turns the lock, watching her fingers with fascination. “Now, come here.”

Her stomach quivers as she closes the gap between the door and his desk. Marcus pulls his chair out and sits back in it, then nods at the desk. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“...I don’t,” Clarke begins, staring at the papers still left in the way.

“I said take a seat, Ms. Griffin.”

It’s not fair how hot he sounds, like he knows now all she’s going to think about in class when he hands everybody back their grades is where those papers have been. Wobbling a little on unsteady legs, she hitches herself up on the desk. She can feel the essays against her ass when she shifts, perilously close to her sticky thighs.

“Pull your skirt up for me.” He sounds like he’s calling on her to explain something somebody long dead did and why it matters, not do the hottest and most embarrassing thing she’s ever done. Before, at least it was because he was going down on her. Now it feels like an inspection, and Clarke licks her lips before obeying. “Look at that.”

“Oh, _God_.” She can’t help the exclamation when he runs a gentle hand over where she’s gotten her inner thighs and the skirt wet again, fingers glistening when he pulls it free to examine under the light.

“Now, as much as I’d like to think this is all for me,” he licks his fingers clean and arousal hits her so hard her belly cramps with it, “I know better. What was it, sweetheart? What made that sweet little cunt of yours so wet?” It wasn’t _just_ what happened on the phone, so Clarke pulls her lower lip between her teeth and looks down at him, trying her best at come hither so maybe he won’t notice she’s holding some of the answer back. “During class, I liked it. Being naked under my skirt, in front of everybody.” He doesn’t answer, just looks at her expectantly, and she scrambles for more. “And I kept thinking about you.”

Marcus taps a finger against his chin, studying her. “Hmm. I had hoped we wouldn’t need to discuss what happens if you lie to me so soon, but maybe it’s what’s needed.” He pats his lap, beckoning her to join him. “Come here, sit with me.” He flips her skirt up when she rests on his knee, the tweed of his trousers scratching at her thighs. “I don’t like repeating myself, Clarke. When I ask you a question, I want an answer. If you don’t know, say that, but I’d advise you against lying to me.”

“What happens if I lie to you?”

He smiles, gently, and reaches under her skirt to pat her ass, hand lingering on the warm curve. “I’ll turn you over my knee and turn your ass red, Miss Griffin, and if that isn’t enough to get the point across I’ll have to get creative.” She and Octavia found this one video on Bellamy’s laptop where an old guy tied up a girl who looked their age and used a crop on her, sharp little flicks of his wrist that made her dance in place. Clarke had gone home and locked the door and gotten herself off up against it, frantic and a little ashamed.

Marcus might want to do that to her, she realizes.

She might _want_ Marcus to that to her.

“Clarke?” He grips her chin in two fingers, bringing her eyes to meet his and scanning them for reassurance he hasn’t scared her silent. “I’ll ask again, what was it? Tell me the whole truth, or my original plans for this afternoon will have to wait.”

“It was while I was talking to mom,” she blurts out, as panicked by the thought of losing whatever he’d wanted to do as she is turned on by the implicit threat. “I started thinking about… what you said, and picturing it again, and I got wet.”

“What I said? I said quite a lot.”

He’s not going to let her get away with not saying it, and the words come a little easier this time. “That you used to make mom come like you made me come.”

“Good girl.” He smiles down at her, stroking her face fondly, and she feels like she’s a beloved pet who just performed a particularly impressive trick. It makes her preen, and he chucks her under the chin. “You’ve done so well, Clarke. Would you like another reward?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gently, he eases her off his lap. “Get down on your knees for me, Miss Griffin.” She hits the floor so fast she’s probably going to bruise, but it’s worth it when her eagerness makes him laugh an approving little laugh that makes her feel like he’s delighted, not making fun of how much she wants this. “Now, ask for what you want.”

“Let me suck your cock, sir. Please, I need it.”

He pulls his zipper down and pulls his cock through his fly, casual as if they really were just grading papers. He’s _huge_ , even bigger than she thought he would be from what she’d seen earlier, thick and flushed and purpling at the head, already weeping clear fluid. Finn’s cock had fit all the way in her mouth without much effort, but she’s not sure how to do that with Marcus and her mouth waters thinking about it. “I’m not sure it is. I’ve heard the sound of a woman who _needs_ her mouth on my cock, and that wasn’t what I just heard.” He could be talking anybody but she can’t help and picture mom, on her knees and needing Marcus’ dick as bad as Clarke does. She’d walked in on mom and dad once when she’d been blowing him, so it’s way too easy to picture that, too, and she gulps. “So I don’t know, Miss Griffin.” He jacks his fist slowly; once, twice, spreading his pre-come along the veined shaft, and Clarke follows the motion with her whole head, feeling like a doll on a string. “Are you sure that’s what you want? I wouldn’t want you to waste your reward.”

“No, I need it! Please, sir, I’ve only tried it once but I’ll be good, I swear, good for _you_.” It’s a game, because he’s teased her but he hasn’t been _mean_ , but even in the game she can’t bear the thought of not getting to do what she’s spent the whole afternoon fantasizing about. “Please, let me suck your cock, sir, I _need_ it.”

He stops her by threading a hand through her hair; not pulling, just resting there on the back of her head, and urging her forward. She goes eagerly, trying to take him deep and whining in disappointment when the hand in her hair goes firm and keeps her in place. The bite feels good even though it hurts, and she fights it a little bit longer than she has to before giving in.

“All right, don’t worry. You’ve convinced me you need it, but you said you’d be good for me. So start out slow.”

Finn wanted her to just go all the way down and stay there, so Clarke huffs out a frustrated little sigh and swirls her tongue a little, at a loss for what he wants from her. After a moment, he chuckles.

“So, that ‘once’ was a typical teenage boy, hmm? Just eager to have his cock in a warm hole, not at all concerned about how it happens.” She rolls her eyes up to look at him, and he’s rolling his eyes. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll teach you, like your parents taught me.”

She whines and his thighs jump, the first sign she’s done something that made him feel good making her cunt clench greedily around nothing.

“That’s a good girl. First lesson: make all the noise you want around my cock, darling, it feels so good.” He pets her face. “And I love the sound of a girl enjoying herself. You do enjoy this, don’t you?” She’s seen enough porn to know that there’s a whole _thing_ about girls trying to talk around dicks, so she says _yes sir_ and Marcus stiffens, hissing out a short breath. “I should have known you’d be an apt pupil here, too. Do you want to take me deeper now?”

She gives a garbled, enthusiastic yes and he pushes her down another inch, until the the tip of his cock kisses at the back of her tongue when he lifts his hips. “Hollow out your cheeks. And use your tongue to stroke me.”

Her face flames, and Clarke vows to track Raven down and ask her for tips. She’d blown Wick behind the gym last year, before he turned into a total douche and earned total social exile. She’d know better than to just sit there.

“Much better, Miss Griffin. That’s it, just like that.” He starts to slowly move his hips and at first it’s weird to keep moving her tongue around because it makes keeping a seal impossible and she drools in slow, thick strings onto his chair, but he seems to like it so she keeps it up, even when her tongue starts to hurt a little.

Like he can sense it, Marcus stops moving his hips. “I’d like to fuck your face now, sweetheart. Is that all right? You don’t have to do anything but keep your lips tight around me and let me have that beautiful mouth.”

She nods as best she can, rolling her eyes upwards and pleading with them at the same time she lets out an incomprehensible encouragement around his cock.

He starts moving his hips slowly; when she leans into the thrusts and makes him yank her hair to stop her again, he chuckles. “I should have known you’d be like her here, too. So greedy for it, wanting to be filled up on _your_ time, not mine.” She moans, loud and embarrassing and his hips speed up, riding her mouth in a controlled in and out that starts to feel a little like the rush she gets meditating. All she has to do is keep her lips tight around him, that’s what Marcus said, and now he’s calling her beautiful and a good little cocksucker and she’s floating on it all.

When Marcus stops, she grabs at his waist, trying to spur him back on. “A _born_ cocksucker, and such a good girl. I’m a lucky man, but you’re not ready for me to come that deep, darling, not yet. Suck on the head again, firm pressure. And give me your hand.” He threads his fingers through hers when she does, using their combined grip to jack him off. “I want you to swallow it all, Miss Griffin, every drop or I’ll have to find a way to punish you that won’t make that needy little cunt wet like a spanking does. No, not for a girl like you.”

_I will_ , she tries to say, _I’ll swallow everything, I’ll do it just like you want me to_ but the words are a jumbled mess of syllables, lost in Marcus’ loud groan as he comes, thick and salty and hot and better than she remembers from Finn. She sucks tenderly until he firms his grip in her hair and tugs her away, holding her face in place so he can lay a tender kiss on her mouth, stubble rubbing at her puffy lips, bruised from sucking dick because she’s a natural cocksucker, that’s what he said, and making her shudder. “Now, get on the desk again.”

“Yes, sir.” Tottering on shaky legs she clambers up, creasing papers in her haste, and he rolls the chair closer.

“Spread your legs.” She does, and he frowns. “Hmm. No, I think–” Taking her right calf in one big hand, he drapes her leg over the back of the chair, opening her up and making her clench and release, suddenly conscious of how empty she is and how much she wants his fingers inside her, _anything_ inside her. “That’s much better. Look at you, poor girl. Look at that little cunt clutch at nothing. I’ve made you wait long enough, haven’t I?” She nods, pathetically eager, and he kisses her bare knee. “Ask me for what you want.” “Can I come, sir? Please, I want to come, it made me so wet when you fucked my mouth.”

His eyes flash. “You can.” She looks at him expectantly, and he just nods at her hand.

“But…”

“Do it. I want to see how you touch yourself, Clarke.”

Swallowing the _but I want you_ that wants to burst from her chest like she’s the bratty kid he probably still remembers, Clarke nods and shoves her skirt higher, working her thumb hard at her clit like she does at the end of touching herself, conscious of Marcus’ eyes on her. Seconds stretches into thirty seconds into a minute, and tears start to leak out of the corners of her eyes. It feels _good_ but it’s not working, and Marcus stops her hand, bringing it up to his lips.

“Shh, it’s all right. We don’t have much time, so I’ll make you a deal. I’ll make you come–”

“Yes, yes, sir please–”

“If you agree to complete an extra assignment for me.”

“...sir?”

He smiles. “The next time your mother is at the hospital at night and you’re home alone, I want you to go into that huge bedroom of hers and rub off against one of her pillows. Rock against it like the hungry little thing you are and don’t stop until you’ve come twice.” Dropping her hand, he tweaks her clit with louche confidence. “If you’ll do that, I’ll help you get off now, sweetheart. If not…” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Then in looking at the clock, I think our time today is at an end.”

“I’ll do it.” She doesn’t _have_ to do it. She could always lie, or say she changed her mind, but the sunburn itch feeling of doing that on mom’s bed means she’s going to. “Please, sir, please make me come.”

“Good girl.” She’s so wet it makes audible squishing noises when he separates her labia to slide a finger inside her cunt, and she blushes and tries to look away. He stops her with his free hand, holding her head in place. “No, don’t. Look.” He draws her head down and she doesn’t fight it, hot and cold in dizzy waves as he shows her how wet she is, how easily she takes two of his fingers, sighing happily at the slurp-suck sound that emanates from her body as he pushes them inside. “Don’t be ashamed of wanting something, Clarke. Or of what your body does when you want things.”

“It’s not… gross?”

He pumps his fingers, angling them so the sounds are louder as he fucks her with them steadily. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He bends down to kiss where his fingers meet her body, tongue flicking out to stroke the stretched skin. “This cunt, and the way it spreads around me, is beautiful.” Still licking at her swollen center, he takes her clit between this thumb and middle finger, using his index to rub in firm circles over the hood. “The way you’re going to come for me? Beautiful.”

She shatters on the last word. How could she do anything else when his hands seem to know how to touch her perfectly and he whispers words like _beautiful_ and seems so pleased about all the gross stuff she thought you had to figure out how to get rid of or pretend not to hear.

He pulls his fingers out of her and kisses where he’s left her open, tongue darting out to feel the space he’s marked out. “Beautiful.” He says it into her cunt and Clarke doesn’t come again but she does feel hazy, like everything’s one of those dreams where you can float and then the shower turns into an ocean.

She slumps forward and he tucks her into his lap, stroking her hair gently. “That’s a girl. Such a good girl for me, Clarke, you did so well.”

“T’ank you.” She mutters the words into his shirt, dragging in long breaths that smell like cotton and sweat and whatever aftershave he uses. “My mom wants you to come over for dinner.”

He kisses her cheek. “I think it’s been a long day already, hasn’t it? Maybe another time. Let you feel steady again first.”

“She said you’d say that.”

He laughs. “What else did she say?”

“That we could do it next week, and I should use any means necessary.”

“Well, you certainly did that.” He pats her knee, slowly pulling away and putting physical distance between them by inches. “Tell her to call me, and we can hash out the details for next week.”

Reluctantly, Clarke climbs off his lap, tottering a little before the pins and needles leave her leg. “Yes, sir.”

“In that case, Ms. Griffin, thank you for all your help on these papers.”

The _papers_. Clarke’s head jerks down to the desk, to where she left a sticky mess on the top fan of papers. “Sir, I didn’t mean to.”

“I said thank you, didn’t I?” He starts to put them back in order, unfolding the ones she bent and smoothing a hand over them. “I meant it. Have a nice night, Clarke.”

“‘Night, Marcus.”

She doesn’t bother to ask for the panties back again, and when she gets home she tells mom she needs a shower first and gets off three times in a row, arm shoved in her mouth to muffle the screams.


End file.
